


What DOES evil smell like, anyway?

by Maccabits



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cryptids, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Snakes, ineffable husbands, ineffable scents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:55:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maccabits/pseuds/Maccabits
Summary: Aziraphale reads up on herpetology and is surprised.





	What DOES evil smell like, anyway?

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite scent is baby garter snake. That is all.

Aziraphale knows what he smells of - Avignon, by Commes des Garcon, as recommended by his barber. Light, airy, redolent of incense... with just a bit of mustiness of a French cathedral. His barber knew him well. But Crowley? It had taken him some time to figure out.

Crowley had always had his sense of style, one that Aziraphale had to admit (though only to himself) that he had very much enjoyed in its many iterations. It had none of the grotesque aspect foundational to the other demons Aziraphale had come across over the centuries. Crowley was beautiful, and he knew it, though he never said so. He obviously took a lot of pride with his appearance, changing with the times in the way that Aziraphale never had gotten the knack of. Aziraphale loved his clothes until the bitter end; Crowley cast them off for the latest model. Aziraphale couldn't say he minded. 

But the scent he wore was a mystery. Aziraphale had numerous occasions to be close enough to the demon to fully take in his distinctive musk. It was a tangy lemongrass of sorts, few recognizable base notes; earthy, dark, with something of that rich soil of Eden. But there was something more, and that something more was quite beguiling. Frankly, it had disturbed him a little to hear Gabriel refer to the scent as "evil." Aziraphale had had occasion to experience many "evil" smells which he associated with the Four Horsemen: the smell of poverty, of sickness, of infection, and of death. Crowley smelled of none of these things. If anything, Aziraphale was drawn to it; attracted to scent was just one of the traits he had picked up over the 6000 years in human form. He stood a few centimeters closer to Crowley than he otherwise would, simply to take his scent in; he knew that, at least he was that self-aware! But he couldn't identify it. 

Until the day he came across a beautiful green snake crossing the pavement in St. James. Or rather, two green snakes, who had inopportunely taken the chance to mate on concrete rather than grass, such had been their hurry. Aziraphale was concerned that they would be hurt by a fearful human, and so he had gently moved the intertwined couple to the side. And, by God, a strange scent was left lingering on his hands afterward. Not unpleasant, not offensive, but familiar. Crowley. His hands smelled of Crowley, as surely as if he had been running his hands through the demon's thick pompadour. (As if he would do such a thing. Gabriel. Would. Have. A. Fit.)

Aziraphale breathed in deeply; it was intoxicating. And curious. He hadn't personally had a hand in creating creatures great and small; that had been Michael's doing, and he was continually surprised at the little miracles within Nature. He went straight to his bookshop and began to investigate. It took him awhile to find an entry on "Snake Musk"; it was in an academic journal, written by a keen herpetologist, a contemporary of Darwin's. (THIS is why he kept all these first editions of things around, he proclaimed triumphantly. To himself. In his head.)

"Snake musk: Secreted from a cloacal scent gland, the musk is a complicated array of organic compounds which appear to be used to mark territory and to attract a mate. Undeterred by water and lye, snake musk will linger on through repeated washings, reappearing when wet. As for its effect on mammals, little is known beyond the fact that if it is mixed into a mammal's food, the mammal will refuse to eat."

Well. That was quite a lot to unpack. Aziraphale was no mammal, not really, and he had found Crowley's presence only whetted his appetite for luncheons, dessert and everything in between. Which led to the first statement. Oh my. Aziraphale didn't quite have the courage to complete the thought. Could it be that Crowley smelled sinister to everyone else, but sensational to him?

"Are you.... are you sniffing me, Angel?" Crowley queried the next time their paths crossed. Aziraphale was greeting him, not only his customary few centimeters too close, but with his head practically buried in the demon's neck.

"Mmm... no," Aziraphale said, inhaling deeply. "What IS that cologne, though? It's divine!"

"Unlikely," Crowley replied, archly. "Umm, it's been created especially for me. Not for public consumption. Your own cologne suits, Angel - don't go looking for mine!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Aziraphale said, dreamily. "Yours very much suits you, too."

Well, thought Crowley: That is a thing that just happened.

Aziraphale continued to smile.


End file.
